


On The House (The Second Surprise)

by Kisatsel



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Episode Tag, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Raunchy Songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/pseuds/Kisatsel
Summary: How to explain that he didn't fuck his friends without admitting that he saw Jaskier as one? The question, and the consequent realisation, disturbed him slightly.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 58
Kudos: 1262





	On The House (The Second Surprise)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silklace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/gifts).



> This is an episode coda to ep 4, "Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials". Based only on the TV show, plus some wiki pages and other Witcher fic that I've read. 
> 
> Thanks to silk and L for ongoing encouragement.

Nobody questioned Geralt as he made his way out of the Cintran castle. Everyone he saw was hurrying in the opposite direction, towards the wreckage of the great hall.

Outside it was a clear, cold night, with the light of sunrise just starting to seep into the sky, washing it gray. The streets were empty. Looking at the dark bulk of the castle from out here, nobody would know guess that tonight a curse had been lifted, a princess had promised her hand in marriage, and servants were scrubbing away the blood of those who had died trying to prevent it.

He thought of Pavetta retching onto the stone flagstones and then put it forcefully out of his mind.

Peace, and solitude, and a job killing something ugly and uncomplicated in exchange for coin. That was what he needed.

“Geralt!”

That was Jaskier’s voice, faint but unmistakable. Geralt scanned the castle walls. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement: a hand waving frantically out of an arrow slit. The hand pointed energetically: I’m coming down!

Oh, joy.

Ten minutes later Jaskier was hurrying over to him, out of breath, his lute twanging as it slapped against his legs.

“Thanks for waiting! Boy, that was something. What do you say we find a tavern? I know one not far from the city gate that’s open all night. The barkeep loves me.”

“I doubt that. What for? It’s light enough to ride,” Geralt said, patting Roach’s neck.

“You don’t want a drink after that spectacle?”

Geralt thought about it and inclined his head in agreement with this irrefutable argument.

“Excellent,” Jaskier said. “Drinks on me. These royal occasions pay pretty well.”

\--

Geralt drew fewer looks than usual as they entered the tavern, due no doubt to these ridiculous clothes Jaskier had put him in. He was worried that Jaskier might hop up on a table and start spreading court gossip in rhyming couplets, and cast a glance around to scout out exit routes, but Jaskier just flicked a coin on the bar, said, “One flagon of ale for me, and two for my heroic friend,” and drew him over, drinks in hand, to a relatively secluded corner.

Jaskier had an excited flush on his cheeks, the sort of frenetic energy that told Geralt he’d probably be snoring on the table within an hour.

“Somehow,” Jaskier said, “when I’m with you, I always end up watching history in action. Thank you. Sincerely. Not for the nasty rumours you spread about me. But nobody punched me or kneed me in the balls, and I count that as a job well done.”

“You owe me now,” Geralt agreed, taking a deep swig of beer. “Just please don’t repay me by writing another song.”

“You sorely underestimate the power of story,” Jaskier said. He had a gleam in his eye that Geralt didn’t like the look of. “How shall I repay you then? What shall I give you, if not my voice and my words?”

“A moment’s peace?” Geralt suggested.

“Not in my nature,” Jaskier said, smirking wickedly. He dropped his voice. “How about the ride of your life?”

Geralt choked on his beer. When he recovered he looked Jaskier over, unimpressed. “There's a whorehouse down the road.”

Jaskier jutted his chin out, glaring at Geralt. "You don't see the value of something freely given."

Of course the bard would take this personally. Geralt sighed. "That was a cheap jibe. I'm sorry."

“You don't go for men,” Jaskier said with an air of tragic weariness. “Well, don’t hate me, it was worth a shot. You’ve seen yourself.”

Geralt watched him silently, contemplating this convenient lie. His habits tended towards women, but more out of practicality than a marked preference: he didn't need another reason to get thrown out of towns.

How to explain that he didn't fuck his friends without admitting that he saw Jaskier as one? The question, and the consequent realisation, disturbed him slightly.

“Is that it?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt growled quietly. “I don’t fuck trivial fools,” he said.

“ _Ouch_. That’s what you think of me,” Jaskier said flatly.

Geralt grimaced. Say yes. Knock back the remaining flagon of ale and walk out the door and he could be alone with his thoughts, in the vast empty clarity of the dawn light. Just him and Roach on the road.

He said nothing.

"Oh," Jaskier said, “You think I've got _feelings_. Come on, witcher. Look how many disastrous affairs I've had. My heart cannot be broken. Bruised, pricked, pummeled, but it springs back into shape. Like a beast you just can't murder, no matter how many times you stab it."

"Haven’t met one yet," Geralt said. "Sexy," he added dryly, feeling like he should address Jaskier's nonsense more generally.

"You get hard from unslayable monsters? That presents a challenge. I'm entirely mortal and terrible at fighting. And therein, perhaps, lies my charm." Jaskier’s eyebrows danced in a manner he no doubt considered enticing.

“Why now?” Geralt said.

“I have been flirting with you ever since we met,” Jaskier said. “My goodness, you truly are oblivious. Why now? We just witnessed true love’s kiss and I want some fleeting intimacy of my own. I’ve been watching you all night. I’m a shameless - good for nothing - shallow, shallow man, and I think if you were as honest as you think you are, you’d admit that you’d like to find out what this trivial fool can do.” Jaskier spoke quickly in a low, husky tone, tripping over the words, leaning in close so he wouldn’t be overheard. Ruddy cheeked and eager, his warm breath smelling of ale.

Geralt flipped a coin in his head and watched it land with a sense of inevitability. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s find out.”

“And, by the way - what?”

“Go and get us a room for the rest of the night,” Geralt said, watching with interest as Jaskier processed this instruction. Jaskier’s head jerked up, his flush deepened and he licked his lips. 

“You’re--”

“Not kidding. I don’t play those kind of games.”

“Oh. Uh. Good.” He stood and stuck a hand in his pocket, probably counting coins. Geralt watched him go and resolved to sneak a ducat into Jaskier’s pack in the morning.

\--

The room had a narrow bed, a wooden chair, an empty fireplace and a strong stink of beer.

“Will we both fit?” Jaskier said, eyeing the bed.

“If you’d prefer, you can run back to the castle and beg Queen Calanthe for a more comfortable bed,” Geralt suggested.

“I’ll take my chances here.” Jaskier placed his bags down in the corner of the room and stripped off his jacket. “In the White Wolf’s den.”

Geralt, sitting on the bed, rolled his eyes and beckoned Jaskier over. He eased his hair down, shook it out and slipped the band he’d used to tie it in his pocket. Jaskier sat and drew his legs up under him, watching him warily. Geralt felt an inconvenient twinge of guilt.

“Which part do you prefer to take?” he said, pressing his palm against Jaskier’s belly under his shirt. He liked a partner who shivered and twitched at his lightest touch, the way Jaskier was right now.

Jaskier froze. “Y-you’d let me fuck you?” he said.

“Mm,” Geralt said. “Perhaps. Since the ribald tales you tell at court parties feature only women, I take it that you do understand discretion. In which case - would you like to?”

“Oh, fuck.” Jaskier pressed in closer to him, spreading a restless hand over Geralt’s thigh. “I am, I’m so discreet - once I had Sir Aloise the Bearded, you know, the one who wrestled a bear and won - well he had _me_ , over the table where he polished his axes, and not a word did I spill! Until now. You can trust me to take care of you. It’s my own neck on the block too.”

Geralt exhaled. “Do you _ever_ stop talking?”

“Do you want me to?” Jaskier said hurriedly.

“I’d prefer it,” Geralt said, letting his mouth crook up in a smile, “if you used your mouth to some purpose.”

“ _Oh._ You’re so - you’re _really_ big,” Jaskier said, as if apologising. “And you look as if you want to eat me up. It’s hard to keep track of my thoughts.”

Geralt drew him closer and kissed him. Jaskier inhaled in shock and then settled into it, and Geralt thanked the stars above that the bard knew how to kiss at least. When he drew Jaskier’s shirt up he lifted his arms obligingly, wriggling out of it in-between kisses, hot and hungry.

The removal of his own clothes focused Jaskier somewhat; the removal of Geralt’s clothes sent him into a stunned, wide-eyed state, and after a few seconds of silent, gratifying staring, he jerked into sudden action which found Geralt on his back with Jaskier sucking on his nipple while Geralt closed his eyes and felt nothing but this: Jaskier’s teasing tongue, his tousled hair between Geralt’s fingers.

“I do,” Jaskier said, lifting his head. “I want to fuck you. I want you to let me. I want to make you feel good. Please.” He bit his lip, running his hands over Geralt’s chest like he still couldn’t believe he got to touch.

Geralt had dropped his pack on the floor by the bed, and he leaned over and rummaged, one-handed, through potions and herbs and sheathed daggers until he found a vial of Argentia and pressed it into Jaskier’s hand. “What do you keep this for?” Jaskier said, pulling the stopper and sniffing the oil. “It smells expensive.”

“Polishing your blade,” Geralt told him, which made Jaskier laugh so hard he slumped down and rested his forehead on Geralt’s thigh.

“How is this my life?” Jaskier gasped. He put the stopper back in and Geralt frowned, but then Jaskier dipped his head and sucked on the head of Geralt’s cock. Ah, fuck. Jaskier was _good_. He licked and teased, looking blissed out, like rubbing his face over a man’s hard prick was all he needed, and then he got down to it and sank down, sucking hard.

He didn’t take all of it, but he took a lot, and when he pulled off his lips were red and shiny, spit smeared on his chin. Geralt traced a thumb over his cheek.

“Turn over?” Jaskier said, his voice shaky.

Geralt grunted in agreement and rolled over onto all fours.

“The most perfect ass in all four kingdoms,” Jaskier breathed reverently, running his hands over it.

It was a shame that Jaskier was a congenital idiot and one of the least masterful men Geralt had ever encountered, otherwise he could have told Geralt to be still, or pushed him down and pinned his wrists, and Geralt might have minded him. But they could find enjoyment in each other. Freely given.

Jaskier was patient and careful as he opened Geralt up, at least until Geralt turned his head and growled over his shoulder.

“Okay, okay!” Jaskier yelped and shoved three fingers in Geralt’s ass. That was more like it - the slightly foreign stretch, the burn, the way the pleasure of it spread up his spine, making him roll his shoulders and push back on it. It had been _years_ since he’d had this.

“Are you - can I--?” Jaskier said.

“Yeah,” Geralt said. “Fuck me. Make it good.”

“Good means hard? You like it hard,” Jaskier said, and it must have been the words, not the kiss he pressed between Geralt’s shoulder blades as he lined his cock up, that finally drew a moan from Geralt.

Jaskier wasn’t muscled or heavy or fit from hours of training and riding, but he knew how to fuck, and he gave it to him the way he needed, steady and relentless until the bedframe creaked, while Geralt’s cock hung heavy and swollen beneath him and Jaskier panted out occasional, half-decipherable phrases, words of need and praise that Geralt tuned out, lest they sank under his ribcage and stayed there. 

“I - ah!--” Jaskier said. “Geralt I need to - I’m not gonna last, you feel so good--”

“Come on then,” Geralt bit out.

Jaskier stilled in him, and wrapped a hand around his cock instead, jerking Geralt fast and hard and perfect, but he needed to move. “Damn you Jaskier,” he grated out and luckily that tone of voice still worked and Jaskier gave it up, coming inside him with a sob.

Geralt tolerated Jaskier’s body plastered against his back until Jaskier had recovered enough to pull out, and then he rolled onto his back and drew him in for a kiss, pushing a lock of sweaty hair out of his eyes.

He took Jaskier’s hand and fitted it over his cock so they were gripping it together, bringing him off. Jaskier’s hands looked delicate but his fingers were calloused and his grip firm and it took no more than a few seconds for Geralt to spill copiously while Jaskier looked on in breathless wonder.

Geralt sank back and looked up at the wooden beams of the ceiling above him. He was sticky in several places and could feel where Jaskier had come inside him.

He was tired. The sun was up. They had not been subtle in their activities, and might need to bribe or scare a maid, and hope the lady of the house had not watched them too closely earlier.

He felt something soft swiping over his stomach and observed that Jaskier had sacrificed a silk handkerchief to the cause of cleaning up their mess.

Jaskier was watching him. Geralt waited for Jaskier to speak and shatter the drowsy quiet.

“Want to hear a song?” Jaskier said. “It’s about you.”

Geralt winced.

"It’s... I don’t plan on playing it in public,” Jaskier said, and Geralt lifted his head slightly to stare at him, narrow-eyed. "But it’s _very_ complimentary. Lots of praise for your, um, noble attributes”

There was a long pause. "How does it go?" Geralt said.

Jaskier gave him a delighted, terrifying smile and hurried up to fetch his lute. He seated himself cross-legged on the bed and plucked at the strings.

“I won't carry a witcher child,” Jaskier sang, his voice rising suggestively. “But I'll lay by his side while the moon shines bright...” He grinned rakishly and the remnants of Geralt’s post-orgasmic haze of contentment shivered and disappeared, as Jaskier continued, “Oh, sterile he may be, but his seed's still good for me. Strong like an ox and immune to the pox, and I won't carry his child.”

The plangent strums of the lute faded away and Jaskier looked at him expectantly, hands clasped under his chin.

“You know you can't bear children?” Geralt said.

“Yes, picture a woman with her bosom on display singing sweetly. This one is for the houses of ill-repute. It’d spread like wildfire, you’d never pay for a fuck again in your life. We don’t even get to the subject of your cock until verse seventeen.”

But Geralt found, to his surprise, that he'd rather look at the exasperating bard than picture a naked woman.

“What comes before then?” he asked.

“You have to build it up, you know, for anticipation. I’ve tasted the kisses of the witcher’s mouth,” Jaskier sang softly, climbing into Geralt’s lap. “In his hot sweet breath, there was life not death...”

And he kissed Geralt softly too, with feeling.

Geralt found himself willing to devote another hour to learning verses three to sixteen and then convincing Jaskier that they would not be played outside the walls of a tavern room with a locked door.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not on there all that often but I'm kisatsel on tumblr if you wanna chat!!
> 
> Highly embarrassingly, I have now recorded [Jaskier's song](https://kisatsel.tumblr.com/post/190083349167/so-i-am-not-a-great-singer-and-cannot-play-the#tumblr_notes) if you wanna hear how the tune goes.


End file.
